


I Promise My Father Won't Hear About This

by drarryness



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fluff and Smut, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Valentine's Day, Valentine's Day Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-24 07:55:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9712331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drarryness/pseuds/drarryness
Summary: Here is a work of art I wrote at mostly three in the morning. Enjoy.





	

Draco stirred the fragrant soup in front of him wearily and frowned at the recipe he was holding. “Simmer until the chard is wilted?” he asked himself. “How am I supposed to know if _the chard is wilted_?” He sighed.

 

It would be fun, the old ladies hanging around the meat shop cooed.

It’ll be easy, the grocer at the checkout line said.

“It’ll be quick!” the perky chef in the video had exclaimed.

 

Draco was finding none of these to be true.

 

First off, why had Harry insisted on this recipe? Just because Molly Weasley could do it didn’t mean Draco could, he thought as a scowl bloomed across his face. Evidently, Molly Weasley could cook far better than he. It wasn’t an insult to himself, but being raised with house elves, Draco had never had much of a chance to learn how to cook.

Of course, he wasn’t stupid, and Draco was a pretty good cook. Potions weren't so different from cooking and baking, and he had found he had a natural skill. But old Italian recipes that had been found in boxes in the Potters’ abandoned and dusty basement were different. Ingredients that required going to a specialty spices shop were hard to find and buy, and even more so to use. The handwriting on the card was faded and the tiny notecard was curled around the edges, and couldn’t be read without the help of a spell.

Standing back and tapping his foot impatiently, Draco looked at the clock. Five more minutes and the soup should be ready for the beans to be added.

 

But Draco knew how much Harry loved what the two of them thought was Lily Potter’s soup recipe. And he had to admit, it was spicy and delicious. It almost tasted Mediterranean, with all of the olive oil and fresh greens in it.

 

This soup _had_ to be perfect. Because today was Valentine’s Day.

 

It was also the day Draco was going to propose to Harry.

 

Last Valentine’s Day, their first, Draco had gotten Harry a record player and a pile of the old Muggle vinyls he loved. Harry had been beyond ecstatic and the minute he unwrapped the wrapping paper, the music had constantly been on for at least three days straight. Draco had tried not to get annoyed, but after three days even Bob Marley was starting to sound like a better choice.

Harry’s gift to Draco had been even better. It was simple, a bottle of his favorite champagne from Spain and a box of dark chocolate (sea salt and caramel, to be exact, which were Draco’s favorite). But the “I love you” that Harry had told him while blushing and forcing himself to hold Draco’s gaze, was the best part of all.

Stunned, he could only drop his jaw slack in surprise. When the words had been repeated back from his own mouth, he was even more stunned.

Love had been a foreign concept to Draco up to that point, and he slowly learned, with Harry, what it was like to emotionally and physically give someone everything you had. It was a long process. An amazing one, his mind added.

 

But together, they had been able to discover what life was like without Voldemort at your back, without controlling environments and people. 

 

 _I’m living the best time of my life now_ , Draco thought to himself as he stirred the soup and quadruple checked the recipe.

Turning the heat on the burner down to a simmer and adding the beans, Draco tasted the soup. It was almost perfect. Adding a pinch or two of salt, he tasted it again and grinned. If his once-Aristocratic tastes thought it was tasty, then it was _good_.

Thanks to a quick look at the clock, Draco knew Harry was due to arrive home soon; Draco himself had taken the day off because he was too nervous. He didn’t want to acknowledge the questions that lay in the back of his mind. _What if he says no? What if I trip? What if I drop the ring and embarrass myself? The press would have a field day with that. Father would turn in his grave._

Steeling himself, Draco glanced at the lovely bouquet sitting on the counter from Harry. They were cherry blossoms, his favorite kind. Wandering in a field one day (that was _completely_ Harry’s idea), Draco had literally fallen right over a patch and smeared his Burberry x Prada trousers with mud. It had apparently looked cute to Harry, although Draco knew he was quite handsome, he knew not even he looked that good in mud. Afterward the delicate branches and color had captivated Draco, thus becoming his new favorite flower.

The bouquet Draco had gotten Harry sat right next to his, wildflowers that he had skillfully conjured. It had taken him ages, because when asked, Harry had replied  “Wildflowers, I guess. They’re nice, right? Yeah, wildflowers.”

Draco hadn’t added that there were 337 different types of wildflowers.

 

A loud, blaring timer suddenly startled Draco out of his daydream. Dropping the spoon he was holding and jumping in surprise, a few choice curses popped out of his mouth.  
If he had burned the soup Draco was going to go hide in a cave until Christmas. _Pay attention_ , he goaded himself. Today’s soup had to be just right.

Tasting it Draco sighed in relief, his tongue not hot and painful like he expected. It wasn’t burned. “Thank Merlin,” he muttered, wiping a hand across his forehand.

Turning the burner off, Draco put aside the towel he had been holding, took off his apron, and walked into his and Harry’s bedroom.  
Despite his nerves, Draco smiled to himself. The soup had turned out, he was on track for everything, and the box of chocolates that had appeared on the table that morning was halfway gone, the bitter and sensual taste still lingering in his mouth.

As he got dressed, Draco glanced at the ring box sitting on the bed. Platinum silver, it was a plain band with two lines on the sides. It was inconspicuous, something he knew Harry would like.

Glancing at the clock again, Draco finished tying his bowtie and grabbed the box, being careful to put it neatly in his pocket.

He turned the burner off, taking one a lungful of steamy air, looking around at their home. A slightly sagging couch was in one corner, and four bookshelves lined the either side of the wall. A neat coffee table lay in between, the top littered with fashion magazines. The takeout boxes had been thrown away, and the days old cups of tea had been thrown away. With windows in the kitchen and one by the couch, the room was light and airy, light filtering through the curtains.

With one last look, Draco apparated to the restaurant where he was meeting Harry. Even though it was Valentine’s Day, he still had to work a full day and was coming straight from the Ministry (or Hermione had talked to him for forty-five minutes about the weird clouds forming over Winchester, now that she was Minister she had a lot on her plate).

“Draco!”

The ground he was standing on was slightly wet, and the air was chilly. Typical of London, there was a fog hanging over everything, water droplets occasionally catching the light and plunking on the ground.

Draco opened the door for Harry, laughing when he made a move to. Catching his hand, he brought it to his lips and grinned. Letting go, they walked into the restaurant, the ambient light catching the dark tones in Harry’s hair.

  
Merlin, oh how he was gorgeous tonight. Wild hair somewhat tamed, yet a few curls escaping from whatever spell he tried to use. Bright face, flushed cheeks, lips pink from being bit on. He never could stand the cold, and always forgot to bring Chapstick, Draco quipped to himself. It was cute, the way he always nervously licked them, or when he was angry he would clamp down on his bottom lip, almost drawing blood most of the time.

Slowly taking in what he was wearing, Draco wore a pleased smirk as Harry talked to the hostess. For once he wasn’t wearing his horrid denim jeans, all faded and ripped. Instead, he was in a sleek black Grosgrain silk suit, accentuating every curve of his delicious body. A bow tie hugged his neck, and Draco could see a hint of his sharp collarbones underneath. Instead of ragged navy Chucks on his feet, patent leather evening shoes instead.

  
Harry caught him looking as the hostess led them to the private room Draco had booked. He raised an eyebrow and grinned.

  
“You look amazing,” he said to Draco, eyes never leaving his face. “But then again, you always do,” he laughed, and Draco feels so happy right now, and he doesn’t want it to end, and he says so, and Harry just takes his hand tightly.

As they walk to the back of the restaurant, the cooing and talk around them fade, until all Draco can see is Harry. From the corner of his eye, he can see a paparazzi in hiding, sitting at the table closest to their room. Even now, the two of them as a couple is unbelievable to the public. As it should be, the fact that the two of them stopped fighting each other was a miracle in itself.

  
Nerves start tingling at the base of Draco’s spine, and he gulps, sweat dampening his shirt underneath his tux. It’s now or never, he thinks, as the hostess takes a small step back with a subtle, knowing nod, her hand on the handle of the door.

  
Draco stops, and takes Harry’s hand, trying to pull up every ounce of courage he has inside of him. As he kneels, he can tell that people are staring, eyes fixed, and it seems everyone has gone quiet. A million thoughts are running through Draco’s mind, and he takes a quick breath before looking up.

Harry’s eyes are wide, mouth slightly parted, as he looks down at Draco.

  
“Will you marry me?” Draco asks, the ring somehow out of the box and his pocket, and he can’t even remember taking it out.

  
It seems like forever but it’s half a second when Harry whispers, “Yes,” and suddenly there are lightbulbs flashing and clapping, everyone is clapping, as Draco quickly slips the band on his finger and pulls Harry into a long kiss, both of Harry’s hands caressing his face.

  
Harry breaks the kiss first, and his eyes are even more bright than they were before, and his smile is showing both of his dimples and is stretched wide. As people start to turn back to their own dinners, and a photographer takes a quick snap of “the lovely couple” Harry murmurs into Draco’s ear.

 

“I saw it in your sock drawer,” and Draco Malfoy _giggles_ , because of course, he did.

  
“I thought I bought you a whole new pack, that’s why I did,” Draco murmurs back, as yet another photographer takes their picture, Harry’s arm tightly around Draco, their hips side to side.

  
“You did, I just like wearing your socks,” and Harry’s voice is hot against Draco’s ear, and Draco can’t wait to be alone as it sends shivers down his spine.

  
As if in response to what he was thinking, his stomach rumbles.

  
“Come on, let’s just go eat already,” Harry tugs on Draco’s hand and they escape into the private room.

Their desserts are waiting, steam curling in the air and cinnamon and spices filling the whole the room.

There are no windows, but soft red paper lanterns are strung all around. A hint of underlying jasmine drifts into Draco’s senses, and the hard backed, dark sandalwood chairs stand out amid the pale tones surrounding them. The table is set elaborately, placemats perfectly aligned.

  
Harry sighs into the seat, and Draco sits across from him, grabbing his left hand. As he tucks into the delicious trifle and Chelsea buns, Harry glances down at his ring and smiles lovingly.

  
“I can’t believe…” he starts, then stopping when Draco feeds him a piece of the food. He chews, swallows then continues.

  
“You’re such a romantic. Valentine’s Day, no less,” he says as he licks the sugar off of his lips.

  
“I had to, you would expect nothing less,” Draco huffs back, listening to the live music outside of their room.

  
“I would say yes to you even if you proposed in the Weasley’s backyard,” Harry blushes, and in the candlelight, it’s faint and subtle, like an artist painted it on carefully, the color awash on his face.

  
“Really? You would endure all of their teasings for me?”

  
“Of course. You’re everything to me, you dolt.” This he mutters, and Draco kisses his hand again because he smells and tastes like a fresh summer garden, of the sunshine, and grapefruit.

  
“Me too.”

  
Underneath the table, their legs were wrapped around each other, feet fondling slowly. It was relaxing, and all of the thoughts in Draco’s mind revolve around the fact that he is _going to marry_ the man opposite him.

Time seems to pass quickly, as they laugh and talk about Harry’s day at work, about the crazy old women Draco encountered.

Draco realizes he’s almost done with his plate, and he feels full. Drinking in Harry’s gaze, he smirks.

  
“It’s going to be quite a wedding,” Harry says, not breaking his stare. “Your mum will go crazy.”

  
Gaze still locked on those startling sea green eyes, “I’d imagine Molly will want to cook everything and make sweaters for every guest,” he retorts back. Draco is no longer hungry, but there is something in the room he would very much like to devour.

Harry leans forward in his seat, catching Draco’s chin with his hand. “Not all of them, only the most special ones,” he says casually, his voice a deep timbre, eyes darkened and lids hooded. The room around them seems to darken, and the shadows swirl against his gaze.

“We’ll be wearing sweaters then. Probably will be quite hot if we decide for the wedding to be in the summer,” and Draco scoots closer in his chair, knee underneath the table pressed against Harry’s thigh.

“Of course. A fall wedding would probably do better,” Harry smoothly surmises, still eye to eye with him, and Draco’s jaw is clenched with the effort not to take him right there on the table.

Did it get harder to breathe right now? There must be something in the air, Draco thinks, because otherwise there would be no logical explanation for the hand on _his_ knee now, fingers loose and warm.

“Fall is lovely, somewhere like Preston Court would do nicely, I think,” and somehow his tone is controlled and even. Draco nudges his knee further up, enjoying when Harry bites his lip.

He’s unraveling now, Draco can tell. His cheeks are flushed, pupils dilated. He’s going to crack soon, it’s in his nature. Good thing he opted for the two piece suit, it’s easier to take off.

“Where’s that?” he manages, even cockily grinning as though he can tell what Draco is thinking.

“Kent. We should go there sometime, Pansy and Blaise went once and said it was splendid.”

“I can’t handle this,” Harry blurts, standing up, as he grabs Draco’s hand and hurriedly apparates, the restaurant disappearing in a flash of light. Briefly, Draco wonders about the check, and what the reporters will think, but he tosses it out of his mind and decides it doesn’t matter.

 

Draco chuckles when he opens his eyes to find Harry crouched over him, quickly undoing the buttons on his tux.

  
“But didn’t you want to learn more about Kent, darling?” Draco pouts, earning a glare from Harry. “I put time and effort into making your favorite soup, we better eat it tonight.”

The comforter against Draco’s back is silky and comfortable, and Harry is hot above him.

“Kent my arse. I can’t believe you kept that up for so long,” he mutters, and his lips look so soft, and Draco reaches up before his mind catches up with his body.

Pulling Harry on to him, bow tie still on, Draco runs his hands through the tangled mess of his hair. He kisses him, arching his back, needing to feel _more_. Those lips are so bitten, and Draco mars them more, pulling Harry’s bottom lip into his mouth. He shivers, and nips at the skin next to his mouth, cupping his face now, kissing each freckle that dots Harry’s nose.

“Have I ever told you how beautiful and handsome you are?” Draco asks against Harry’s skin, only smelling his scent.

“Have I ever said that to you?” Harry laughs back, his hands still cradling Draco’s face.

“You know I love to hear it,” and now Draco is sucking on Harry’s neck, making him murmur nonsense and squirm. A low moan fills the air, vibrant like the unplucked strings of a cello.

Draco can’t help but moan himself, as Harry’s hand finds the buttons on Draco’s shirt, fumbling and vanishing his shirt with magic instead.

  
“You never fail to amaze me when you do that,” Draco whispers because even though by now he can too, it shows just a small sliver of how powerful Harry is.

“I’m amazed each day I get to spend with you,” Harry whispers back, making a blush rise to Draco’s cheeks. He’s glad it's dusk, and the darkness hides how touched he is.

In response, Draco moves to his clavicles, making Harry stop for a second.

“Please,” he moans, closing his eyes. Running his hands down Draco’s chest, he opens them and sits up, staring.

Lashes long and black, slightly upturned nose, he reminds Draco of a sky full of twinkling stars. He’s still looking, mouth open, chipped tooth from when he fell off their bed visible.

“Take your fill, don’t mind about me,” Draco smirks softly, running a hand through Harry’s hair.  
“I love you so much, you know that, right?” Harry asks, and Draco’s already full heart just burst.

Suddenly it’s like there’s no time left in the world, and all of their clothes are gone, and Harry slips inside of Draco with a gasp, stars spinning above Draco’s head. Harry’s eyes are rolled back, and Draco’s hands are clutched so tight in his hair he fears he’ll leave marks.

 

They’ve done this many times before, and Harry’s body is like a map only Draco can navigate. He knows exactly what makes him hum, and doesn’t mind doing so. Harry’s lips are everywhere, sucking, kissing, grabbing, marking Draco all over.

 

Draco lifts his hips, groaning, as Harry establishes a rhythm, muscular thighs straddling him, the only music playing being the incoherent mumbles.

It gets darker, and their room is filled with the sound of Harry and Draco’s moans and gasps, and Draco can’t take another slam of Harry into his body and he comes, trembling and shaking all over and heaving a strangled yelp as Harry does the same.

He lies on top of him for a moment, panting heavily and taking deep breaths, and slowly slides out and lies next to him, curled up tightly. They’re both sweaty, and Draco hates being dirty, but he loves this moment.

 

“Happy Valentine’s Day, love,” Draco hums into Harry’s ear, wrapping his arm around his body.

 

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Mr. soon to be Malfoy-Potter,” Harry whispers back, turning around and planting a small kiss on his forehead.

 

Draco hugs Harry tightly, looking out of their window at the full moon shining brightly on the bed. The sheets are a tangled mess, and the comforter has long been on the floor, but it’s cozy, and Draco is assured that he will be with this body, this man, for many, many days and nights to come.

**Author's Note:**

> At least they didn't eat the classic British dish of Spotted Dick for dessert.


End file.
